The Hangman's Daughter

“Why didn’t you tell us this earlier? It would have saved you a lot of suffering.”

“But then you’d have known that we had been there before,” sighed Martin Hueber. “Also, until just now I really did think these men were yours. They looked like town bailiffs.”

“Like town bailiffs?”

The Augsburg carter was struggling for the right words.

“More or less. After all, it was already getting dark, and they were quite a ways off. I didn’t see much. Now that I think about it, they may have been soldiers.”

Johann Lechner gave him a puzzled look.

“Soldiers…”

“Yes, the colorful clothes, the high boots, the hats. I believe one or two of them were also carrying sabers. I…I’m no longer sure.”

“Well, you really should be sure, Hueber.”

Johann Lechner walked back to the door. “You should be sure, or else we’ll have to help you remember. I’ll give you one more night to think it over. Tomorrow I shall return with quill and parchment, and we’ll set it all down in writing. If some uncertainties still remain, we’ll quickly clear them up. It just so happens that the hangman is not busy right now.”

With those words he closed the door behind him and left the wagon driver alone. Johann Lechner smiled. They would see what the Augsburger would come up with overnight. Even if he was not responsible for the fire, his confession would still be worth its weight in gold. A Fugger wagon driver as the ring-leader of a conspiracy against the wagon drivers of Schongau! The Augsburgers would have to eat humble pie in future negotiations. It might even be possible, under such circumstances, to increase the rates for warehousing Augsburg goods. After all, the Stadel would have to be rebuilt at great cost. It was wonderful how everything was working out. Once the midwife confessed, all would be well again. Fronwieser, that quack, had said that she would be ready for interrogation tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow at the latest.

It would just take time and patience.

The Schreevogl house was in the Bauerngasse, in the Hof Gate quarter, not far from the castle. In this neighborhood stood the houses of the patricians, three-story showpieces with carved balconies and paintings on their facades. The air smelled much better here, mainly because it was far away from the malodorous tanneries down by the Lech. Servant girls were shaking out bedding on the balustrades, while merchants came to the door to supply the cooks with spices, smoked meat, and plucked geese. Simon knocked on the tall door with the brass knob. After a few seconds he could hear steps inside. A maid opened and led him into the entrance hall. A short time later Jakob Schreevogl appeared at the top of the wide spiral staircase. With concern he looked down on Simon.

“Any news about our Clara?” he asked. “My wife is still sick in bed. Under no circumstances do I wish to upset her unnecessarily.”

Simon shook his head. “We were down at the Hohenfurch Road. The building site of the leper house is completely ruined.”

Jakob Schreevogl sighed. “I already know that,” he said and with a gesture invited Simon to have a seat while he himself settled into a cushioned chair in the antechamber. He reached into a bowl of gingerbread cookies and started chewing slowly. “Who would do such a thing? I mean, of course there was opposition to the construction in the council, but from there to go and destroy the entire leper house…”

Simon decided to speak openly with the patrician.

“Is it true that you had already made firm plans for a second kiln on that land before your father left it to the church?” he asked.

Jakob Schreevogl frowned and put the gingerbread back into the bowl. “But I’ve already told you. After the argument with my father he quickly changed his will, and I could bury my plans.”

“And your father, too, shortly thereafter.”

The patrician raised his eyebrows. “What are you implying, Fronwieser?”

“With your father’s death you no longer had any chance of having the will changed again. Now the land belongs to the church. If you want it back, you’d have to buy it back from the church.”

Jakob Schreevogl smiled. “I understand,” he said. “You suspect me of interfering with the construction until the church would give me back the land voluntarily. But you forget that before the council, I had always spoken for the building of the leper house.”

“Yes, but not necessarily on a piece of land that is so important to you,” interrupted Simon.

The patrician shrugged. “I am already conducting negotiations regarding another piece of land. The second kiln will be built but at another location. This particular spot on the Hohenfurch Road wasn’t important enough for me to put my good name at risk for it.”

Simon looked Jakob Schreevogl straight in the eye. He could detect no trace of deception.

“Who, if not you, could be interested in destroying the leper house?” he asked finally.